


Dream Lover

by imaginary_golux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreamsharing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: For years, FN-2187 has been dreaming of a green place and a blue-green tree and a companion named Poe. As far as he knows, all of those are nothing but figments of his imagination.And then, in a tiny nameless encampment on Jakku, during the absolute worst night of FN-2187's life, he discovers that Poe is real...Beta by my marvelous Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Chapter 1

First Order Stormtroopers do not dream. It is, the cadets are told during training, an inefficient use of sleep hours. Since First Order Stormtroopers, unlike the Clone Troopers of the great Empire, are not all genetically identical, sometimes the biochemistry of the Stormtroopers interacts badly with the suppressants, causing dreams to occur. If this happens, the cadets are cautioned, they must report it at once, so that their suppressants can be recalibrated.

The first time FN-2187 dreams, he is five, and he reports the fact to the cadet commandant as soon as he awakens. His suppressants are recalibrated that day, and the next morning he is able to report that his dreams have not reoccurred. He is not the only cadet of his year-group to have this experience; almost half of them require suppressant recalibration before they are six. Reporting dreams does not earn demerits, or affect ranking, so FN-2187 almost forgets about it, for a while. He does not remember what he dreamt.

The second time FN-2187 dreams, he is eight. He dreams he is somewhere he has never been, somewhere green, and in front of him is a great blue-green tree like nothing he has ever seen before. There is a boy in the tree, older than FN-2187 - nearly old enough to earn his Whites - who smiles down at FN-2187 and says, “Oh! You’re here at last! Come and climb with me!”

There is no reason for FN-2187 to obey. Climbing a tree is inefficient and a waste of time and energy. But the boy in the tree is bright-eyed and smiling, and FN-2187 has never seen anyone smile like that before, so broad and sweet and _happy_.

FN-2187 climbs the tree. He and the older boy chase each other through the branches for what feels like _hours_ , tagging each other and swinging away again with whoops of glee, and FN-2187 finds himself _laughing_ , laughing as he never has before. He is more agile than the older boy, and enough lighter that he can climb into branches that are too thin for the older boy, and the older boy is stronger and knows his way around the tree better, so they are very evenly matched. At last, exhausted and grinning, they settle together on a low, broad branch, and the boy reaches out to take FN-2187’s hand.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says quietly. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

FN-2187 wakes feeling more refreshed than he ever has before. His cadet commandant is busy during breakfast, and so FN-2187 resolves to tell the commandant after morning training - but during morning training, FN-2187 does better than he _ever_ has. He shoots more accurately, his calisthenics are more precise, his performance during melee practice is far more efficient than it ever has been. He is praised by every instructor.

If this is what dreaming gets him, FN-2187 thinks, he should dream more often. It doesn’t make him _less_ efficient as a Stormtrooper cadet - it makes him _better_.

He doesn’t tell the cadet commandant about his dream.

He dreams again that night - again, it’s the older boy and the blue-green tree. This time, the older boy sits back against the tree’s trunk and starts telling a story, one FN-2187 has never heard before. It’s nothing like the stories that Supreme Leader Snoke or the Generals tell during the daily broadcasts, or like the ones the trainers tell as methods of instruction. It’s about a boy who goes on an adventure to rescue his true love, and has to be brave and strong and clever and kind to win through the challenges the evil sorcerer places in his way. FN-2187 sits beside the older boy on the soft moss beneath the tree and listens, wide-eyed, trying hard to etch every word into his memory.

He still remembers it in the morning - it distracts him from the daily broadcast, in fact - and he knows he _should_ tell the cadet commandant, really he should, but he does so _well_ during training. It’s like even his _mind_ is working faster: during the tactics session, he comes up with the right answer faster than anyone else in the room, and it doesn’t even feel _hard_. It just...takes shape in his mind, simple and perfect and glorious.

He doesn’t tell the cadet commandant about that dream, either. Nor about any of the other dreams he has, almost every night after that. All of them feature the older boy, and most of them have the blue-green tree in them, too. As FN-2187 gets older, so does the other boy, always staying older than FN-2187. FN-2187 is honestly a little jealous the first time the older boy shows up with stubble on his cheeks and chin, so very proud of himself. But the older boy is always so kind to FN-2187, always has that broad sweet smile for him - is always so happy to see him. FN-2187 can’t be jealous for long, and ends up just being proud of his - his friend? Can one be friends with a dream?

His dream’s name is Poe, FN-2187 learns. He kind of wishes he had a nickname he could offer, like so many of the other cadets do, but he doesn’t, so he just never mentions it. There’s never anyone else in the dreams, after all; it’s not as though Poe needs to call FN-2187 by name. He calls FN-2187 ‘buddy,’ when he calls him anything, and it’s - it’s nice, to think he’s someone’s buddy, someone’s friend.

Though it’s nice to know _Poe’s_ name. FN-2187 rolls it around in his mouth sometimes, while the cadets are all standing at attention waiting for the daily broadcast to start. He never says it aloud, but he likes the taste of it, the way it sits on his tongue, the way he thinks it would sound if he ever said it. It’s something else that sets FN-2187 apart from the other cadets, along with his greater skill and unfortunate compassion.

He knows he _should_ tell the cadet commandant about the dreams, and have his suppressants recalibrated, and never see Poe again. But he cannot bear to do it.

Sometimes, FN-2187 thinks, for all that he’s the best in his cadet class at pretty much anything they’re set, he’s really not very good at being a Stormtrooper.

*

FN-2187’s dreams are really quite remarkably detailed, for figments of his imagination. Poe is funny and clever and reckless and he _likes_ FN-2187, which is how FN-2187 knows these are only dreams, because no one in real life has such bad taste as to like him at all. Poe tells stories about his Da who is alive and his Ma who is not, about the absurdly large horde of people who apparently make up his family, about learning to swim and learning to fly fighter planes and learning to cook. FN-2187 is kind of impressed by how many details his imagination can come up with.

FN-2187 doesn’t really want to tell Poe about training, or about how no one likes him - those seem like the sorts of stories that would be really out of place in this quiet green dream, with the blue-green tree stretching its branches above them. So he picks out the good bits, the days his instructors praise him or his comrades choose to acknowledge him, the occasional funny bits of training, and he tells Poe about those. Poe always listens like he’s really interested, and sometimes he asks questions, and FN-2187 finds himself telling Poe more than he really meant to, about being too compassionate, about his comrades never quite wanting him, about his instructors scolding him for being distracted by helping others. He always cuts himself off as soon as he notices he’s saying any of that, though, and proposes a round of tree-tag or asks for a story. Poe has a seemingly endless supply of stories, and he’s always happy to share.

*

FN-2187 is absolutely sure his dreams are nothing _but_ dreams - something his subconscious made up, the way the cadet instructors described, in order to distract him from his duty - until the day his squad is sent to Jakku. FN-2187 watches the massacre of the peaceful encampment with horror, unable to convince himself that these villagers are the sorts of ravening enemies of the First Order that all the simulations showed, and he _knows_ that if he doesn’t fire his blaster he’ll be reconditioned or even decommissioned when they return to the ship, he _knows_ that, he could at least fire out into the dunes so that his blaster records show that he has _used_ it, even if he doesn’t shoot _at_ anyone -

And then two of the other Stormtroopers drag a struggling man out of the dunes, and FN-2187 stops dead, staring.

It’s Poe.

It’s Poe, and how is that _possible_? Poe is a figment of FN-2187’s imagination, a dream and nothing more - but here he is, battered and defiant, talking back to Kylo Ren himself, as beautiful and cocky and _real_ as he ever is in FN-2187’s dreams.

FN-2187 stares in horror as Poe is dragged aboard Kylo Ren’s own transport. Poe is real. Poe is _real_ , and he’s part of the _Resistance_ , and he’s going to be _tortured to death_.

And then Captain Phasma orders the Stormtroopers to fire on the villagers, and FN-2187 stands there staring at the carnage and realizes that he cannot stay with the First Order. He cannot be a Stormtrooper anymore. It is death to leave the First Order, he knows that; desertion is punishable by death, and no deserter has ever managed to flee far enough or fast enough to escape that inevitable fate. But FN-2187 has to try, because given a choice between staying in the First Order and dying by inches, or taking the infinitesimal chance of escape -

FN-2187 will take that chance.

And he’s taking Poe with him, too.

*

FN-2187 is shaking in his boots as he approaches the cell where the prisoner is being held, but he does his absolute best not to show it. _Any_ indication that this is not an authorized order will result in the alarm being raised.

“Kylo Ren wants the prisoner,” he tells the bored Stormtroopers standing guard on the door, and they both salute. FN-2187 opens the door and does his very best not to flinch at the sight of Poe lolled back on the reconditioning chair, bloody and bruised and without a trace of the bright smile he usually wears. He looks _terrified_ , in fact, as FN-2187 pulls him out of the chair and snaps the manacles on, and he stumbles along beside FN-2187 with a look on his face that suggests he thinks he’s going to his doom.

FN-2187 spots the little side-corridor he’s been looking for at last, and tugs Poe into it hastily. “You told me once you could fly anything,” he says. “Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

“What?” Poe asks, blinking up at FN-2187 in blank confusion. “I - _what_?”

FN-2187 bites his lip in frustration and pulls his helmet off. Poe’s jaw drops. “You said you could fly anything,” FN-2187 says again. “This is a rescue. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

“Stars and _planets_ ,” Poe breathes. “It’s you.” He stares up at Finn wide-eyed for a long moment, then shakes himself and nods firmly. “I can fly a TIE fighter. Let’s go - I need to find my droid!”

FN-2187 claps his helmet back on his head and leads Poe out towards the hangars, as fast as he dares to march. Poe is real, Poe is _here_ \- and apparently Poe knows _him_. As soon as they have a few minutes to spare, FN-2187 is _definitely_ asking Poe about this.

*

“So what _is_ your name?” Poe shouts as the TIE fighter zips out of the hangar.

“FN-2187!” FN-2187 yells back.

“What?” Poe yelps, sounding utterly horrified. “That’s not a name!”

“Only name they ever gave me,” FN-2187 tells him absently, most of his attention fixed on the unfamiliar controls. “If you wanna call me something else, go ahead.”

“Finn,” Poe says decisively. “I’m going to call you Finn.”

FN-2187 tries the name out tentatively. “Finn,” he says, and starts to smile. “I like that!”

“Finn,” Poe says, and Finn can _hear_ the smile in his voice, that broad sweet smile that has always warmed Finn to his toes. “Stars, but it’s good to meet you at last!”

“You knew I was real?” Finn calls over his shoulder, baffled.

“Of course I knew you were real!” Poe replies. “Wait, you mean you _didn’t_?”

And then there is a terrible explosion, and Finn is flung back against his harness as the TIE fighter spirals out of control down towards the sands of Jakku.

Finn wakes in the wreckage of his seat, which apparently ejected from the TIE fighter at some point in the chaos. His head aches abominably, he is already overheated, and - worst of all - there is no sign of the other seat or the pilot who should be in it. He wriggles out of the safety straps and struggles over the dunes towards the smoking heap of metal that used to be a TIE fighter, and manages to pull Poe’s jacket out before the whole damn thing sinks into the hungry sands.

Finn stands there panting for a moment, so consumed with grief and horror that he almost flings himself into the sand after the TIE fighter. To have had Poe in real life, to have spoken to him and heard him speak, and then to _lose_ him, after a few scant minutes -

To know that when he sleeps again, there will be no Poe waiting beneath a blue-green tree -

Finn buries his face in the leather of the jacket and tries desperately not to weep.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking through the desert towards the hope of civilization, overheated and so thirsty his throat feels like it’s coated with sand and it hurts to blink his too-dry eyelids, with no shade but the little the jacket can provide, is one of the worst experiences of Finn’s life. It’s made immeasurably worse by the fact that he keeps thinking that if he _does_ just give in - just fall to his knees and let the desert take him - maybe Poe will be waiting on the other side, beneath a blue-green tree. Maybe that’s what the dreams meant - maybe that’s why Poe was so surprised to see him.

But something keeps him stumbling onward, through the blistering heat and the desolate sand, leaving his armor scattered behind him in a wavering, uneven line. Maybe it’s hope, though Finn doesn’t know what he has left to hope for; maybe it’s a wish to finish Poe’s last mission, to find the droid and bring it back to the Resistance Poe has died for. Maybe when that’s done, Finn will follow Poe into whatever comes after this life.

But first, he has to survive the desert.

*

It’s a near thing, in the end. Finn reaches the filthy, lukewarm, utterly disgusting - utterly _wonderful_ \- drinking trough just before his legs finally decide they’re not going to keep going anymore. Nothing in his life has ever felt so good as _finally_ getting water down his parched throat.

And when he looks up, well, there’s Poe’s droid. That’s a sign if Finn has ever seen one.

The girl with the quarterstaff, though, is something of a surprise.

“Where did you get that _jacket_?” she demands, and Finn has to swallow down a lump of grief before he can reply.

“I got it from Poe,” he says, and the little droid beeps in clear surprise. “I got him off the Star Destroyer, but they managed to hit the TIE fighter we stole, and it crashed.” He swallows again, harder. “He...he didn’t survive. But he was coming back to find you. So - so I guess I’ve got to finish his mission.” He looks up at the miserable little droid and holds out a hand. “Will you help me?”

The little droid looks him up and down, then reaches out with a grasping tool and takes Finn’s hand, shaking it firmly and beeping something Finn doesn’t follow.

“It says it’ll help you if you help it,” the girl with the quarterstaff translates. “Are you with the Resistance?” She lowers her quarterstaff, and Finn takes the opportunity to clamber to his feet.

“...Not yet,” he tells her. “But - but Poe is. So maybe I am?”

“That’s...definite,” she says dubiously. “Who _is_ this Poe person?”

The droid burbles something. The girl laughs. “Classified? Really?”

“I dream about him,” Finn says, not sure why he’s admitting it except that it feels so good to say it at last, to someone who won’t report him. “Or - or I did. I don’t know if I will again, now that he’s - gone.”

The girl’s jaw drops. “He’s your _dream-mate_?” she asks, sounding almost awed. “And - oh, kriff, he died?” She scrubs her free hand across the back of her neck. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

Finn is about to ask what a dream-mate is when the First Order TIE fighters arrive.

*

Finn doesn’t have time to ask anyone any questions about dream-mates in the hectic hours that follow. First there’s stealing the garbage ship from the junkyard at Niima, and then learning to use its completely counterintuitive guns while going much too fast through a ship graveyard - and there’s an experience Finn never wants to have again, thank you very much - and then there’s the garbage ship _breaking_ and having to try desperately to figure out which tool Rey needs while she swears at the incomprehensible tangle of wires and tubing beneath the deck, and then there’s the infamous Han Solo, Rebellion General and smuggler, and then there are rathtars and Kanjiklub and the Guavian Death Gang and -

It’s a little hectic, is the point.

Finn does manage to doze a little on the _Millennium Falcon_ on their way to Takodana, wherever that is, but he never falls more than halfway into sleep, never deep enough to dream. He’s almost glad. He hasn’t gone a night without dreaming of Poe since that first night fifteen years ago, and he wants to put off that dreadful night when Poe does _not_ join him beneath the blue-green tree for as long as possible. He knows it’s coming, he just - he doesn’t think he’ll be able to bear it, waking up to know for _sure_ that Poe is gone.

Takodana is, in fact, very green, though not quite as green as the dream-world that holds Poe and the blue-green tree. Finn follows Rey and BB-8 and Han Solo into the enormous castle, gazing about wide-eyed at the dozens of different species of sapients. The First Order is a very humanocentric organization - the daily broadcasts assure the Stormtroopers that humans are the smartest, most efficient, altogether most _worthy_ species, and that all other species will be much better off when they are properly subjugated to the First Order and humanity. Looking around now, Finn doesn’t think any of the various nonhuman people in this cantina are necessarily any less capable than he is. They seem like they have their shit together. And of course Chewbacca seems perfectly competent, too. He’s certainly got a better grasp of what’s going on than _Finn_ does.

But then again, if the First Order was lying about the villagers on Jakku being their enemies, and about dreams making ‘troopers less efficient, maybe they’ve been lying about other things, too. Finn’s beginning to suspect they’ve been lying about _everything_.

Which probably explains why they don’t want the ‘troopers dreaming. If _Finn_ was willing to risk everything to save his - his dream-mate, whatever that means - the other ‘troopers might feel the same about _theirs_. And also, since presumably all the ‘troopers would have _different_ dream-mates, the dreams would act as proofs of individuality, and the officers almost certainly don’t want their ‘troopers starting to believe they’re anything other than utterly interchangeable cogs.

It’s honestly amazing how quickly all the First Order’s lies become clear after a scant day outside their clutches. Finn’s head kind of hurts from thinking about it.

His heart hurts, too, but that’s a different problem.

*

Maz is _baffling_ , and the cantina is crowded and noisy and full of smells Finn honestly doesn’t know how to categorize - some of them might be food, and he does eat one of the fruit-things in the basket on the table, which is sweet and juicy and makes his tongue tingle oddly - and once Maz and Han Solo get down to proper dickering, Finn excuses himself quietly and goes out to sit on the front steps and take deep breaths until he feels a little less overwhelmed.

It almost works, too. Finn is feeling _much_ better, almost good enough to head back in again and see what Han Solo and Maz have agreed, when he _hears_ something - or maybe feels is a better term - something that makes his gut twist and his heart clench and every cell in his body cry out in horror and dismay. He lifts his head to see great streaks across the sky, smears of light as red as blood, as though the galaxy itself is bleeding.

He stares, baffled and inexplicably ill, and then he realizes what this must be. Starkiller. Starkiller has fired, and somewhere far away, a sun and its worlds have been wiped forever from the galaxy.

He’s still staring in blank, uncomprehending horror when he hears the dreadful, familiar sound of TIE fighters making their final approach, and whirls around to see them coming in low and fast, the enormous bulk of a troop carrier just behind them, and Kylo Ren’s personal transport hovering ominously above them all.

Finn whirls, about to run into the cantina and warn - _everyone_ , kriff, no one is safe - and the first blast from a TIE fighter hits the stone just in front of him, blowing him backwards. Finn hits a column rather harder than is pleasant and slides down it to crumple in a little heap at its base, head aching abominably. People come boiling out of the cantina, all of them drawing weapons, and from somewhere behind him Finn hears Chewbacca’s warbling, furious battle cry. He stumbles to his feet, looking around wildly, and sees Han Solo first, blaster in hand, taking cover behind a bit of shattered stone - and then Maz, scurrying out of her cantina with something clutched tightly in her hand. She makes a beeline straight for Finn.

“Your friend and the droid are trying to get away,” Maz snaps as she reaches him, and presses the whatever-it-is into Finn’s hand. “We need to give them time.”

Finn looks down at the whatever-it-is. It is a cylinder of silver metal, very plain and unadorned, with a single button. “What -?” he says, and Maz shoves him towards the disembarking Stormtroopers.

“It is a weapon!” she snaps, and Finn shrugs to himself and thumbs it on.

The lightsaber springs to life in his hand, blazing blue and feeling somehow _right_. Finn would kind of like to take a few minutes and question Maz about _why_ she has a lightsaber, and why it seems to _like_ him, but there’s no time. It seems like Finn hasn’t been having the time to ask important questions a _lot_ lately.

On the other hand, questions of any sort weren’t exactly encouraged in the First Order, so it’s not like this is _new_. And the lightsaber fits so perfectly in his hand, like every other melee weapon he’s ever held was a failed imitation of this one - Finn charges forward towards the Stormtroopers, lightsaber blazing in his hand. Poe might be dead, but his _mission_ isn’t, and Finn will do everything in his power to see that mission succeed. And right now, that means giving Rey and BB-8 time to get the kriff away.

It almost works. That’s the worst part: Finn and the cantina’s patrons are _winning_ , with the help of the astonishing arrival of the Resistance’s X-Wings to drive off the TIE fighters. The Stormtroopers are falling back in disarray, enormous gaps in their normally-tidy lines.

And then that _feeling_ , whatever it is, sends Finn’s stomach lurching, and he whirls around to see Kylo Ren carrying Rey’s limp, unconscious form through the battle towards his transport.

Finn has lost his dream-mate to Kylo Ren and the First Order. He does not think that he can bear losing his first and only friend.

*

Finn is not looking for Poe when the _Falcon_ finally lands on D’Qar. He’s honestly not sure _who_ he’s looking for - someone, anyone, who might be willing to listen to him, who might talk to the intimidating General Organa for him. If he can’t find anyone, he’ll try approaching her _himself_ , but she’s currently a little busy, and also Finn can’t help remembering all those daily broadcasts about how she gunned down helpless civilians and destroyed the glorious Empire with the help of her equally despicable brother. Admittedly, given what he’s been learning about the First Order, almost certainly none of that is _true_ , but it’s hard to set it all aside in a scant few hours.

He’s standing on the tarmac trying to make sense of the bustling chaos all around him when BB-8 lets out the loudest whistle-beep Finn’s ever heard and takes off across the landing field at what be its top speed. Finn follows it almost instinctively, wondering what in the _galaxy_ could get a response like that out of the little droid, and then sees what BB-8 is heading for and stumbles to a stop, gaping in wonder and baffled astonishment.

Poe Dameron. _Alive._

Poe looks up from hugging BB-8 and leaps to his feet, and Finn finds himself running again, desperate to close the space between them, and only barely manages to slow enough not to knock Poe over as they collide. “Poe,” he says, clinging desperately to the other man. “Poe, you’re _alive_.”

“Finn,” Poe says, voice breaking, and Finn would feel bad about how bad he’s holding on to Poe except that Poe is holding _him_ just as hard, fingers clenched in the leather of the jacket. Bits of Poe’s flight suit are digging into Finn’s chest uncomfortably, but Finn isn’t going to let go of Poe for anything less than a full-scale Stormtrooper assault.

It’s Poe who eases away first - not far, just enough so he can grip Finn’s arms and look Finn up and down, awe and wonder clear on his face. “You’re alive,” he says, and then looks up again and smiles, that wide bright smile that has always greeted Finn in dreams. “You completed my mission. You’re _here_.”

“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “ _You’re_ alive. How - the TIE -”

“Got flung free,” Poe explains, eyes bright. “Woke up, no TIE, no you - no jacket -” he grins broadly - “apparently because it looks better on you - hitched a ride into town with a passing trader, got in _after_ all the excitement, got picked up by Snap when he came by to see what the _kriff_ was going on, and here I am. And you?”

“Got flung free,” Finn says, grinning helplessly. “Woke up, no you, TIE sank into the sand, managed to make it to Niima, met Rey and BB-8, stole the _Millennium Falcon_ , met Han Solo and Chewbacca, made it to Takodana - remind me to tell you about the rathtars sometime - got raided by the First Order, and here I am. But - Poe - _they got Rey_. We have to get her back.”

BB-8 warbles something, and Poe glances down at the little droid. “Saved you from a Teedo?” he asks. “Then we owe her a _big_ one, little buddy. Come on, Finn. Let’s go talk to the General.”

“Thank you,” Finn says quietly, taking Poe’s hand. Poe squeezes back gently.

“No thanks necessary, buddy,” he says. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. And I _do_ owe this Rey girl one, if she saved BB-8, so you _really_ don’t have to thank me.”

*

General Organa listens to Finn’s slightly incoherent explanation and nods, and puts together the information from eight different incomplete reports and a panicked ex-Stormtrooper, and sends them off to Starkiller with a grim little smile. She’s _terrifying_.

And in the bustle before the _Falcon_ takes off to do the impossible, Finn manages to pull Poe aside into an unused corner and say, “Poe. What _is_ a dream-mate?”

Poe’s jaw drops, and then someone off to the side yells, “Dameron! Get your pretty ass in gear! We’re on a _deadline_ , bucko!”

Poe lunges forward and kisses Finn, hard. “It means I’m _yours_ ,” he says, fiercely, and is gone, jogging away across the tarmac, leaving Finn standing there with one hand to his lips, as flabbergasted as he’s ever been in his life. Poe is _his_? But - what - how - _why_?

And then there is no more time to think about it, and Finn decides that when all of this chaos is over, he is kriffing well going to sit Poe down and make the other man _explain_.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have time to fret over that during the lightspeed approach to Starkiller (which is _kriffing insane_ ) or the desperate half-assed plan to get Phasma to drop the shields (seriously, _why does that even work_ ) or the impossible, wonderful, _incredible_ reunion with Rey. And he _really_ doesn’t have any time to fret after Kylo Ren shows up.

And then Finn is lying facedown in the snow, his whole world nothing but pain, and his last thought before he slips into blessed unconsciousness is, _Poe._


	3. Chapter 3

Finn knows he’s dreaming, when he opens his eyes to the green world and the blue-green tree. Poe’s not there, which is...unusual and sort of distressing, but everything’s so quiet and peaceful that it’s hard to get worked up about that. Finn sits down on the soft moss at the base of the tree and gazes up at the patterns the leaves make against the sky, marveling at the beauty of this place, wherever it is. Since Poe turned out to be real, maybe this green place is real too. Maybe Poe knows where it is. Maybe someday he’ll bring Finn there. That would be nice.

Finn’s not sure how long he’s been there when Poe arrives. It’s quite startlingly abrupt. One moment Finn is alone under the tree; the next moment, Poe is sitting beside him, beaming. Finn blinks at him in baffled wonder.

“ _Finn_ ,” Poe says, and lunges forward, cupping his hands around Finn’s face and kissing Finn thoroughly. Finn makes a startled noise and reaches up to grab Poe’s shoulders, and Poe pulls away.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just - you’re so _still_ , Doc Kalonia says we daren’t try to wake you for at _least_ a week - but you’re gonna be fine!”

That’s quite a relief, actually, and Finn grins up at Poe gratefully. “Good to hear,” he says. “Is - is Rey alright?”

“Yeah,” Poe says instantly, nodding vigorously. “She’s fine, she beat the _bantha crap_ out of Kylo Ren, she’s gone off to find Luke Skywalker. She’s gonna be a Jedi, probably.”

Finn can’t help smiling at the image of wiry little Rey beating the crap out of Kylo Ren. “I’m sorry I missed that,” he says. “And - Starkiller?”

“Gone,” Poe says fiercely. “Whole damn planet exploded about a minute after Chewbacca got you guys off. They won’t be using _that_ again.”

Finn grins. “Good,” he says. “That’s good.” He takes a deep breath. “So. What’s - what’s a dream-mate?”

Poe settles into a more comfortable position, his back against the tree and his shoulder pressed warm and solid against Finn’s. He’s not wearing his Resistance uniform, Finn realizes - no orange flight suit, no tidy beige tunic and trousers. Instead, he’s wearing a deep blue shirt that Finn has seen before in dreams, and short pants that leave his knees bare. Finn’s dream-self is wearing his normal black undersuit and the leather jacket that used to be Poe’s, and Finn takes a moment while Poe collects his thoughts to wonder if he’d be able to choose different clothing, since this _is_ a dream. Not that he knows what else he’d _like_ to wear.

“So,” Poe says, lacing his fingers through Finn’s where their hands rest on Finn’s leg. “Most sapient species in the galaxy - not all of them, but most - have what’s called dream-mates. That means that you dream of a certain person every night, and as far as anyone can tell, that person is your - your best match, I guess? The person best suited to you, in all the galaxy.” He grins. “Some people have more than one dream-mate, and some people don’t have one at all, but for the most part, it’s one mate for one person.” He gestures at the tree above them with his free hand. “The dreams are always in a place one of the dream-mates thinks of as the safest place in the galaxy. This is the tree behind my house. Usually, the dreams alternate between the two dreamers’ safe places, but - well -”

“I’ve never had a safe place,” Finn says quietly. “So we’ve always been here.”

“Right,” Poe says, nodding. “And _usually_ the dreams start when your dream-mate is born - or at birth, if your dream-mate is older than you are - but - well -” He squeezes Finn’s hand gently. “I dreamed of you when you were _very_ small,” he says softly. “An infant. I was eight, almost nine, and I’d sit here under the tree with you in my lap and sing every lullaby my Ma could teach me. And then you _vanished_ , and - well - everyone told me you were probably dead, but I didn’t believe them.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn says, wincing at the pain Poe must have gone through.

“Not your fault, buddy,” Poe says firmly. “Blame those kriffing assholes running the First Order.” He shrugs. “Anyway. You showed up once when I was fourteen - I woke up and went running to tell my Da you _weren’t_ dead, and he made eggy toast with fresh fruit for breakfast, and it was the best day I’d had in _years_. And then you were gone again for a while, but I knew you’d be back.” He raises their joined hand to his lips, smudges a warm kiss across Finn’s knuckles. “And then you _did_ come back, for good, and - yeah. Here we are.”

Finn nods. “They told us,” he says, and then grins a little wryly. “Those _kriffing assholes_ running the First Order told us that dreaming made us less efficient. They put us all on suppressants. I - I _did_ report dreaming, that time I was five. I’m sorry.” Poe squeezes his hand gently. “But then, when I was eight - I did so much better in training I thought, I thought maybe dreaming would make me _more_ efficient. And it did. But also - also after the first couple days I couldn’t bear to stop.” He takes a deep breath. “But I didn’t know you were real.”

“No, that makes sense,” Poe agrees. “They wouldn’t want you to know there was someone out there who - who would love you.” He sounds nervous, as though Finn might _reject_ him, absurd as that is, and Finn raises their joined hands to his own lips and kisses Poe’s knuckles just as Poe kissed his.

Poe makes a soft, almost wounded sound, and his hand tightens on Finn’s. “You don’t have to,” he says hoarsely, and Finn looks up to see that Poe has slewed around a little and is staring at him with wide, dark, hopeful eyes. “It’s - dream-mates don’t _always_ end up together. Sometimes they’re just really good friends. You could - I know you like Rey - you could see if that goes anywhere -”

Finn puts the fingers of his free hand over Poe’s mouth, and Poe stops talking. “Rey is wonderful and I want to be her best friend forever and watch her beat the bantha crap out of all the Knights of Ren,” Finn says firmly. “ _You_ have been my friend and my only constant and the best part of my life for fifteen years. Maybe dream-mates don’t always end up together, but - but I think we should, don’t you?”

Poe makes a muffled, almost desperate noise, and kisses Finn’s fingers, then reaches up to tug Finn’s hand away gently, fingers warm and callused and strong. “Usually -” he says, and takes a deep breath. “Usually, dream-mates who want to meet tell each other their names, and where they are, and then whichever one can travel more easily goes to the other. I thought - I thought since you never told me, maybe you didn’t _want_ me -”

“ _Kriff_ no,” Finn says, horrified. “I just - I didn’t know you were _real_ , and I - I didn’t _have_ a name, and I - I wanted you to like me.” Poe’s eyes go wider in what looks like dismay. “In the - in the ranks, if you didn’t have a nickname, it meant no one cared enough to give you one,” Finn says miserably. “And I thought if you knew, if you knew I didn’t even have a nickname, you’d - leave. That I’d stop dreaming.”

“Oh _stars_ ,” Poe says, voice breaking, and lunges forward to kiss Finn, clumsy and off-center and their noses bump but so sweet Finn thinks he might die of it. “No. No, Finn, I will _never_ leave you. Not ever. If those idiots didn’t like you enough to give you a nickname, well, clearly they’re all too stupid to pour piss out of a boot without written instructions.”

Finn snorts an undignified laugh. “You named me,” he says, and Poe swallows hard.

“Yeah,” he says faintly. “I did. I - do you like it? I mean, you don’t have to keep the name just because I gave it to you, you can pick one you like better, I just - it was kind of spur of the moment, I was a little distracted -”

Finn’s hands are both occupied, so he kisses Poe silent. It works surprisingly well. “I like being Finn,” he says. “It’s a good name. And I like that you gave it to me.”

Poe blushes. Even his ears go red. It’s astonishingly adorable. And Finn - Finn needs to think about _all_ of this, needs some time to consider everything he’s learned. He looks up at the tree above them. “Want to play tree-tag?” he asks.

Poe beams. “Kriff yes, I always want to play tree-tag,” he says, and shoots to his feet, bounding up into the tree. Finn laughs aloud in delight.

“Cheater!” he calls after Poe, and scrambles to his feet and leaps for the lowest branch.

“Nyah,” Poe calls back, laughing just as hard, and Finn follows him up through the branches, heart full to bursting with joy.

*

Poe vanishes in the middle of their game, which Finn assumes means he’s woken up, and Finn clambers down to a low, wide branch and makes himself comfortable against the tree’s trunk, legs dangling and the wind playing with his bare toes. He’s not sure when his boots vanished, but it doesn’t really matter.

Poe is real, and apparently the reason Finn’s been dreaming of him for so long is that something - call it the Force, call it fate, call it sheer dumb luck - thinks they’re meant to be together. Poe is real, and Finn is _alive_ , and Starkiller is destroyed. Poe is real, and Rey is going to be a Jedi, and Finn is going to wake up in a week - however long that is in dream-time - and Poe will be _right there_ in real life.

Poe is real, and Finn is alive and free, and the galaxy is so much _bigger_ than Finn ever dared to dream.

It’s...it’s a lot to take in.

But this tree is a surprisingly good place for sitting just quietly and thinking, and Finn mulls over the events of the last few days, trying to make everything line up properly in his head, for what must be hours. It’s always late morning, here in the dream, the sun high and warm, a cool breeze keeping the temperature perfectly comfortable and making the tree’s leaves rustle. Sometimes it almost sounds like they’re whispering secrets, and if Finn just listens hard enough, they’ll tell him everything he needs to know.

Finn’s pretty sure he can’t actually sleep in a dream, but he leans back against the tree, its bark strangely warm beneath him, and listens as the leaves whisper their incomprehensible secrets, and just lets himself drift for a while.

*

Poe comes back to find Finn still listening to the wind in the leaves, and clambers up to sit on the branch just below Finn’s, one warm hand on Finn’s bare foot, and waits. Finn pulls himself out of his odd doze slowly, and it feels almost like surfacing after being deep underwater, the world growing clear and sharp again, sound returning in a rush like a wave.

“Hey,” Finn says, smiling down at Poe.

“Hey,” Poe says, grinning back. “So the docs say you’ll be good as new in a week - apparently you’re healing _really_ fast, even accounting for all the bacta they’ve dumped on you. And Rey got a message to us saying she found Skywalker, and he’s agreed to teach her, but, and I quote, ‘He’s being all weird and cryptic, so this might take a while.’ So she’ll be back when she can.”

Finn laughs. “Thanks,” he says. “That’s all good news.”

“My pleasure, buddy,” Poe says warmly.

“This is Yavin 4, isn’t it?” Finn asks. “Your home.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, and then adds, sounding almost tentative, “ _Our_ home, when the war’s over, if you like. My Da would like you. And there’s plenty of room.”

Finn beams. “I’d like that,” he admits. “If the rest of Yavin 4 is as nice as this bit, I think I’d like living there. With you.”

“I’ll take you home,” Poe says, sounding almost breathless. “I’ll take you home and feed you eggy toast with fruit off our trees, and we can play tree-tag in the real thing, and - kriff, buddy, anything you want. Anything. Name it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Finn chuckles. “And if I want another kiss?” he teases, and Poe makes a soft, winded sound, and then stands up on his branch, so their heads are almost level, and curls one hand around the back of Finn’s neck, and pulls him into the softest, sweetest kiss they’ve shared so far.

“Anything,” Poe breathes against Finn’s lips as they pull apart - not far, just enough that Poe’s breath is warm against Finn’s cheek. “I watched you grow up, so strong and brave and beautiful, and then I _met_ you, and you’re - you’re a _hero_ , Finn, you’re everything I ever _dreamed_ of - literally - and I will do _anything_ for you. Ask, and it’s yours.”

Finn’s glad he’s pretty firmly tucked against the trunk of the tree, because otherwise he might fall out of it. “You can’t promise that,” he objects faintly. “What if I asked for something terrible? Like - like -” he honestly can’t think of anything he’d want to ask that _would_ be terrible, but still.

Poe laughs, breath puffing against Finn’s cheek. “You won’t,” he says, so easily, like he _knows_ that Finn will never pick the wrong thing. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing you’d ever ask for that I won’t want to give.”

And that - that’s just - that’s not _fair_. Finn’s half-formed resolution to tell Poe that they should at least wait until Finn is properly awake and see if they like each other in the real world melts like a snowflake meeting a lightsaber. “Keep me,” Finn says hoarsely, and Poe gasps like he’s been struck and hauls Finn into a kiss that’s deep and wet and messy and _hungry_.

“Always, always, kriff, you’re mine and I’m yours and I’ll keep you _forever_ ,” Poe babbles, and Finn kisses the promises out of his mouth.

They end up falling out of the tree, but this _is_ a dream, and they don’t so much crash as bounce off the soft moss, ending up tangled together up against a surprisingly comfortable tree root, Finn half on top of Poe, Poe’s hands clutching at the jacket, both of them laughing helplessly.

“Oh kriff, let’s not do that in real life,” Poe gasps through his laughter, and Finn puts his head on Poe’s shoulder and laughs so hard he cries.

“Good plan,” he agrees once he can talk again, and that sets _Poe_ off again, and when Poe gets his breath back he gasps, “Fine tactical mind you’ve got there,” and they both laugh until they’re gasping for breath and have to roll away from each other and lie there on the moss giggling and trying desperately to regain some shreds of composure.

And when they do, Poe rolls up on one elbow so he’s looking down at Finn, and cups one hand around Finn’s cheek, and says, softly, like the words are a secret, “Stars, but I love you so.”

“Oh,” Finn says, wonderingly. Poe’s eyes are very dark and warm, and his smile is small and soft and private, meant for Finn and Finn alone. “I love you, too. So much.”

“So much,” Poe agrees, and the kiss that follows is so warm and sweet Finn has to close his eyes to keep back tears.

*

They don’t do anything more than kiss, that night or the nights that follow - or at least Finn assumes they’re nights, given that Poe is asleep. Poe says, solemnly, that he would prefer to have any more intimate experiences in person first, and Finn doesn’t mind. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he gets to _have_ a lover - having a few days to think about it is probably good.

Poe keeps Finn up to date on what’s going on out in the real world - that the Resistance is moving its base so as to avoid the inevitable backlash from the First Order, that General Organa has at least a couple of plans for how the Resistance can capitalize on the momentum from destroying Starkiller, that there are new recruits showing up every day, terrified and furious after the destruction of the Hosnian System, determined to do their part in the war.

It’s very nearly the end of the week when Finn asks, “What will _I_ do when I wake up?”

Poe frowns thoughtfully. He’s lying on the soft moss with his head in Finn’s lap, and Finn is taking the golden opportunity to get his hands in Poe’s hair, which is soft and tickly and makes Poe hum happily when Finn strokes it. “What do you _want_ to do?” he asks. “I mean, I’m pretty sure Intelligence wants to ask you all the questions they can think of, and a few they’ll come up with on the spot, so that’ll probably keep you busy for a few days, at least. But after that…” he trails off and leans into Finn’s stroking hand, eyes falling closed in pleasure. “Hm. If you want to learn to be a pilot, I’d be glad to have you - reflexes like yours, I bet you’d be good at it. If you want to join the ground troops, I’m sure they’d be ecstatic, and frankly I suspect you’d end up as an officer sooner rather than later. If you want to actually _join_ Intelligence they’ll probably have raptures.” He opens his eyes and gives Finn a solemn look, though it loses a certain something given that he’s currently upside down. “And if you don’t want to fight - well - Medical always needs more people, and if you want to say to hell with this whole kriffing war, I will fly you to Yavin 4 myself. You’ve paid your dues, buddy. Whatever you owed the universe, you’ve paid it back. No one will think less of you if you say you want out.”

Finn takes a deep breath. There’s a part of him that wants to say yes - that wants to leave this whole mess behind, wants to never think about the First Order again. He might be trained for war, but he doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ like it, and if he does join the Resistance properly, he’ll be committed to the war for as long as it takes - and it might take the rest of his life, however long or short that’s going to be.

But.

“ _I’d_ think less of me,” Finn says. “I want to go home with you to Yavin, someday, and settle down together, and learn how to be a civilian, how to never worry about blaster maintenance or battle plans again. And as long as the First Order is around, I can’t do that. So...I guess I’ll be joining the Resistance - properly, this time. And I’ll tell Intelligence everything they need to know, and I’ll figure out where I’m most useful and do my _damnedest_ to win this war. And then, when it’s all over -”

“We’ll go home,” Poe agrees, gazing up at Finn with eyes so full of love it makes Finn’s heart ache. “We’ll go home, together.”


	4. Chapter 4

Finn closes his eyes on the sight of the blue-green tree and opens them to see the plain white ceiling of the medbay. His back and shoulder ache, but not badly - they’re just sort of tender, not agonizingly sore.

He’s awake. He’s _alive_.

He lies there blinking at the ceiling for a few moments, marveling, and then there’s a sudden commotion off to one side and he turns his head to see Poe tangled up with BB-8 in the doorway, laughing delightedly. They sort themselves out and Poe comes trotting over to the bed as BB-8 whirs out of the room at top speed. “Finn, buddy!” Poe says, grinning fit to light up the room. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, I am,” Finn agrees, laughing, and sits up carefully. His back twinges, but no worse than a slightly strained muscle, and as he stretches a little, the ache dies down to a slight throb, maybe as bad a mild sunburn. Finn’s done a full day’s training feeling worse.

When he looks up, Poe is watching him with bright eyes, and Finn realizes abruptly that unlike in the dream, he’s not wearing the jacket - nor his undersuit, for that matter. He’s used to being naked in the showers, with half a hundred other ‘troopers all showering at the same time, but somehow this is different. In the ‘trooper showers, no one _looked_ at each other - there wasn’t any time for that. But Poe is looking at _him_ , and there’s a heat in Poe’s eyes that says he likes what he sees.

“Looking good, buddy,” Poe says, winking, and then BB-8 comes whirring back in, holding the jacket aloft in its gripping tool triumphantly. Poe pats the droid on the head and passes the jacket to Finn, who spreads it out on his lap to see that the terrible gash down the back has been mended with tiny, tidy stitches. Finn runs gentle fingers down the mend, marveling.

“Thank you,” he says, looking up at last. Poe is smiling proudly.

“My pleasure,” he says quietly. “It’d be a pity for you to lose it - it suits you.”

“It does,” Finn agrees, smiling back. “But - um - I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be wandering around in _just_ the jacket.”

Poe looks briefly rather dazed, then licks his lips and shakes himself back to coherency. “Not outside our room, at least,” he agrees, and produces a shirt and trousers and undershorts from a shelf at the foot of the bed. “Standard-issue,” he explains. “Or - well - they’re some of mine, but they’re just regular uniforms, nothing special, it’s just that the quartermaster had to pack up so we could move bases and it was easier to raid my closet than ask him to unpack a box.” He grins. “And we’re close to the same size, so I think you’ll be alright.”

“Thank you,” Finn says, not sure why the thought of wearing Poe’s clothing makes him feel warm and happy, and filing the thought away to consider later, when he has a little time to consider it properly. “Do - do I need to see a medic?”

“Yes, but only briefly,” Poe assures him. “Doc Kalonia checked you over this morning and said you’d healed up so well that unless anything feels really off, you should be pretty much good to go. She just wants to check in on our way out.” He shrugs. “She said you healed faster than just about anyone she’s ever treated before. I dunno if that’s something the First Order did, or the fact that you’re Force-sensitive, or what -”

“That I’m _what_?” Finn asks, voice breaking as it rises.

“Force-sensitive,” Poe says, frowning in confusion. “The General said you - um - glowed with it.”

“Oh,” Finn says, faintly.

“I’m sorry,” Poe says, “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Finn says. “I...no.” He frowns. “Does this mean I have to be a Jedi?”

“No,” Poe assures him. “Everything we talked about in the dream is still true. The General’s Force-sensitive, and she isn’t a Jedi. You can _choose_ what you want to do.”

“Oh,” Finn says again, and takes a deep breath, and firmly puts the panic aside until he has time to deal with it. “Alright. Then - um - let me get dressed, and I can go see Doctor - Kalonia? - and then - um -”

“And then I show you our room and the mess hall and introduce you around, and after lunch we have a meeting with the General and Intelligence staff,” Poe finishes. “Um. You - don’t mind sharing a room? I _do_ have a spare bunk.”

“I want to share your room,” Finn says firmly, and Poe lights up. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You might think it was moving a little fast,” Poe says, shrugging, as Finn tugs the shirt on. “Moving in together a week after we met, I mean.”

“You’re my dream-mate,” Finn says calmly. “Of _course_ I want to share a room with you.”

“Oh,” Poe says, and his cheeks go pink as he smiles.

*

Finn follows Poe through the halls of the new base, trying hard not to gape at everyone or to twitch too much when his borrowed clothing shifts against his skin. It’s _much_ looser than the black undersuit he’s used to, and softer, too. It’s going to take some getting used to.

At least he’s still got his own boots, even if he _is_ wearing a pair of Poe’s socks.

Almost everyone they pass waves to Poe, or nods, or smiles - Finn’s not surprised Poe is popular. What’s more surprising is the number of people who smile at _him_ , cheerful and welcoming, or even stop and reach out to clasp wrists with him in the formal greeting he’s honestly never shared with anyone before - he only knows about it because some of the instructors used to greet each other that way. “Good work out there,” one of the Resistance fighters tells him, and another says, “Thanks, man, we owe you one.”

“Why are they thanking me?” Finn asks Poe once everyone else is out of earshot.

“You made it possible for us to blow up Starkiller,” Poe says, raising an eyebrow at Finn. “You think nobody’s going to appreciate that?”

“Oh,” Finn says. “But - Han had the explosives, and Rey dealt with Kylo Ren -”

“And according to Chewbacca, you’re the one who knew where the shield generator controls were, and who to intimidate into dropping the shields,” Poe says, grinning. “Sorry, buddy, you’re a hero. Nothing I can do about it.”

“Oh,” Finn says, still baffled.

Poe’s room is astonishing for a _lot_ of reasons. To start with, there are only two bunks in it - well, it’s an officer’s room, so on second thought that makes sense. Officers don’t bunk in stacks like ‘troopers do. But still, a room large enough to hold _three_ stacks of ‘troopers, given over to two bunks and a closet and a desk - Finn has to pause a moment in the doorway and try not to gape too obviously.

The second reason Poe’s room is astonishing is that it has an attached refresher unit, one only large enough for one person. Finn has honestly never seen a refresher so small, except the miniscule one on the _Falcon_ , and at least that one made sense - a ship has to have a refresher, and there was hardly enough room on the _Falcon_ for the single-person unit, much less a proper large one. But the idea of having tiny little one-person refreshers on a _base_ , where there’s plenty of room - of having them attached to individual _rooms_ \- it seems dreadfully inefficient.

And then there’s the _mess_. There is a shirt draped over the back of the chair! And engine parts stacked in a corner by the desk! And the desk itself has half a dozen datapads and twice as many chips heaped on it! If Finn’s bunkroom had been _half_ this messy, Captain Phasma would have had every ‘trooper in his platoon doing sanitation for _weeks_. His fingers itch to tidy it - maybe the Resistance is kinder than the First Order, but surely this cannot pass the daily inspection, and it isn’t fair for Poe to get demerits just because he’s been taking care of Finn.

That, at least, is something Finn knows how to handle - though admittedly he’s not sure how clothing that isn’t an undersuit gets tidied away - so he says, a little tentatively, “When’s the daily inspection?”

Poe gives him a strange look. “Daily inspection?”

“Room inspection?” Finn tries. “I don’t know what you call it here.”

Poe claps a hand to his forehead. “Oh! Gotcha! ...We don’t have those here. I mean, I think the ground troops have to keep the aisle clear, and there’s a weight limit on personal possessions, but in general if you’ve got a private room it’s nobody’s business how messy you are. And if you’re sharing, well, you get to hash it out with your roommate.” He glances around. “I’m not doing too badly this week,” he adds with some amusement. “Must be you’re a good influence, buddy.”

Finn manages to smile back, while trying fruitlessly to imagine a military organization that doesn’t do daily inspections. It doesn’t work very well.

“Right, so, this is the room, that’s your bunk, we’ll get you some clothes from the quartermaster once he finishes unpacking,” Poe says. “Now, shall we go find lunch?”

“...Sure,” Finn says, and follows him out again.

*

The mess hall is, as everything has been on this strange base, astonishing. It’s _loud_ , to start with; in the First Order, the Stormtroopers eat quickly and quietly. They communicate mostly by hand-sign, and it’s considered more than a little rude to look up from one’s slurry and ration bar to actually meet another ‘trooper’s bare eyes. The loudest noise is usually the _clack_ of Captain Phasma’s boots as she paces up and down the long lines of seated Stormtroopers.

In the Resistance, apparently, people talk while they eat - at least, that’s the only explanation Finn can come up with for the _wall_ of sound that emerges from the mess hall when Poe opens the door. There are maybe a hundred people in the enormous room, and it seems like _all_ of them are talking or laughing or even _singing_. Finn pauses a moment, then squares his shoulders and follows Poe in.

The food is neither slurry nor ration bars. It’s a sort of thick stew, and heavy dark bread, and some of the fruit Finn half-recognizes from Maz’s cantina. Poe shrugs as he picks up a plate. “It’s not great, but our cooks do the best they can with what we have,” he tells Finn almost apologetically.

“It smells good,” Finn says, because it _does_ , it smells rich and meaty and _delicious_ , he’s never been so eager to taste something in his life. Poe grins, and ladles some onto Finn’s plate, and Finn follows him down the line, taking a thick slice of bread and a couple of the fruits he thinks he remembers liking - he was a little distracted on Takodana, but the fruits were sweet and juicy and good - and a tall glass of something faintly fizzy. Finn is slightly dubious about a drink being fizzy, but if Poe’s going to drink it, it’s probably safe.

Poe leads the way to a table that’s already half-full and sits down to a chorus of greetings. Finn sits down gingerly next to Poe, and Poe puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “So this is Finn.”

There’s a very brief pause, and then a cacophony of voices, every person at the table trying to greet Finn or ask questions or even just whooping in glee. Finally the bearded man across the table from Finn slaps a hand down resoundingly, and in the brief silence leans across, offering his hand. Finn clasps wrists with him carefully.

“I’m Snap Wexley,” the bearded man says cheerfully. “Good to meet you at last!”

“Good to meet you,” Finn says, hoping it’s the right response.

“These’re Jess and Kare and Nien and Tabala and Kaydel,” Snap continues, waving a hand at the rest of the table. “Welcome to the Resistance!”

“Thank you,” Finn says, and takes a bite of his stew. His eyes go wide. “This is _wonderful_.”

Jess - well, Finn thinks it’s Jess, the introductions were a little brief - raises an eyebrow. “It’s decent,” she agrees, “but it’s nothing special. What the hell’d they feed you in the First Order?”

“Ration bars,” Finn says. “And slurry. On Empire Day we’d get something sweet after the speeches.”

There’s a brief pause, and Finn looks up from his stew to find that everyone else is staring at him in what certainly looks like horror. “Ration bars,” Jess says slowly. “And slurry. _Your whole life._ ”

“Yes?” Finn says, not sure why she’s so surprised. The First Order doesn’t waste luxuries on its Stormtroopers. Even the _officers_ have to restrict themselves to liquid diets on shipboard; the First Order is cruel to all it touches, if not in equal measure.

“...Have a cookie,” Jess says, pushing her plate across the table. Finn shrugs, and does.

It’s delicious.

*

The only person in the meeting room when Poe opens the door for Finn is General Organa. Finn comes to attention and fixes his eyes on the far wall, trying not to hyperventilate. It was one thing to talk to her while he was so busy worrying about Rey that he frankly didn’t have _room_ to panic about anything else, and it’s quite another _now_ , when there’s nothing to distract him from the fact that he’s standing in front of _General Organa herself_.

General Organa says, “At ease, soldier,” sounding almost...gentle? Finn dares to look at her. She’s looking up at him with an expression of warm humor.

“I promise I don’t bite the heads off babies, or whatever it was they told you in the First Order,” she informs him. Finn takes a deep breath and tries to think through the unreasoning panic.

“Actually,” he says, feeling greatly daring, “it was pittins, ma’am.”

General Organa wrinkles her nose. “Really? Wouldn’t the fur get stuck in my teeth? Ick.” She shakes her head. “In any case, I don’t bite the heads off _anything_ except metaphorically, and I only do _that_ after great provocation, which you have notably not given me. Come and sit down. I asked Commander Dameron to bring you by a bit early so that we could spend a few moments getting acquainted before the hordes descend.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Finn says, and sits gingerly in the indicated chair. Poe sits down next to him and reaches over to take Finn’s hand under cover of the table, squeezing gently.

“We’re going to be asking you a great many questions, I expect,” General Organa says. “So before the inquisition starts, do you have any questions for _me_?”

Finn blinks, mind whirling, and what comes out of his mouth, somewhat to his own surprise, is, “Poe told me you said I was Force-sensitive?”

“Oh yes,” General Organa says, nodding. “Very much so. You don’t think Maz hands lightsabers to just _anyone_ , do you?” And then, apparently noting his growing panic, adds, “You don’t have to do anything about it. Force knows _I_ didn’t. Though meditation is actually quite useful for getting one’s thoughts in order.”

Getting his thoughts in order currently sounds _marvelous_. General Organa must see that on his face, because she says, “I meditate every evening before I sleep, if the base isn’t under attack. Drop by my office around nineteen hundred tonight, if you like, and I’ll teach you how.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Finn says, and means it.

And then the door opens and what certainly looks like the entire officer corps of the Resistance plus a round dozen Intelligence operatives comes piling in. No wonder the table’s so large. Poe squeezes Finn’s hand again, and Finn thinks he’s probably hold on too tightly to _Poe’s_ hand, but he can’t help it. Stormtroopers are nearly invisible when they’re doing their jobs right, interchangeable figures in white armor that no one but Captain Phasma can tell apart, and Finn’s not used to being looked at - to being _seen_. But every single one of the officers and Intelligence staff are staring _right at him_. Finn sort of wants to hide under the table.

The Resistance fighters find their seats without much talking, and then they turn almost as one to look at Finn. Not all of them are wearing as kind an expression as General Organa, and isn’t _that_ a bizarre thought to have.

There is a brief, taut silence. And then a human man with short, dark hair and a badge which identifies him as Admiral Statura says, “So. How do we know you aren’t a spy?”

Poe bristles beside Finn, sitting up very straight and glaring at the Admiral. “Finn is my _dream-mate_ -” he begins, and Finn squeezes his hand to cut him off.

“It’s a fair question,” he tells Poe. “If the officers had known I was dreaming about _you_ , they _would_ have tried to turn me into a spy.” He takes a deep breath and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do. “General Organa, ma’am. One of the Force-users in the First Order -” he’s carefully not using Kylo Ren’s name, because Poe doesn’t need to deal with that sort of reminder - “can tell if people are lying - at least according to rumor. Can you do that?”

“I can, actually,” General Organa says, sounding quite approving. “I trust my word will suffice as proof, gentlebeings?”

There’s a general murmur which seems to boil down to, “Of course, ma’am.” General Organa fixes Finn with a look that seems to pierce right through him.

“Are you loyal to the First Order, or to any of its officers or leaders?” she demands.

“No, ma’am,” Finn says firmly. She nods.

“That’s truth. So. Who _are_ you loyal to, then?”

“Poe Dameron,” Finn says instantly, “and Rey.”

There’s a murmur of discontent from some of the officers, and General Organa gives them a scathing look. “His dream-mate and his best friend,” she says. “Who _else_ would he be loyal to?” The muttering officers shut up quite abruptly. General Organa fixes Finn with that piercing gaze again. “Will you work towards the destruction of the First Order?” she demands.

“Yes,” Finn says firmly. “I will.”

“Truth,” General Organa says, nodding. “Will you betray the Resistance to the First Order?”

“Never,” Finn promises. “I want them _dead_ , ma’am. I want every last trace of the First Order gone from the galaxy.”

“Truth,” General Organa says, sounding very satisfied. “So.” She leans back in her chair. “Welcome to the Resistance, Finn. We have a great many questions for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Finn says, mustering a faint smile. Poe squeezes his fingers warmly.

Admiral Statura leans forward. “First of all,” he says, frowning down at a datapad, “how many Stormtroopers _are_ there?”

Finn grimaces. “Too many,” he says bleakly. “Though Starkiller’s destruction probably made a dent.” He thinks hard for a minute. “There are three thousand of each batch - that’s a letter pair, like FN - and the newest cadets I know about were HJs…”


	5. Chapter 5

General Organa declares the meeting over just in time for a late dinner, and Finn barely has the energy to appreciate the very good mix of vegetables and protein that Poe calls a stir-fry. He’s very tempted to just follow Poe to his - _their_ \- room and fall over immediately, but he did promise to join General Organa for meditation, and frankly he doesn’t have the energy to be terrified at the moment, so it’s probably a good time to get _that_ over with. Poe gives him directions to the General’s office and then goes loping off towards the hangar with BB-8 beeping on his heels, and Finn squares his shoulders and makes his way through the slightly dingy corridors to the General’s door.

“Come in!” General Organa calls when he taps gently at the doorframe, and Finn obeys. The General is sitting cross-legged in a big squashy chair that looks like it was probably designed for Wookiees - it’s large enough that it could fit two of the General easily. She looks up at Finn and smiles wryly.

“Usually meditation is done on the floor,” she says, “but my old bones don’t like getting up off the ground again. Have a seat anywhere.”

Finn sits on the floor, because he likes to do things the proper way when he can, and tries to imitate the General’s cross-legged posture. She nods approvingly.

“Get comfortable, but not so comfortable you’re going to fall asleep,” she instructs him. “Close your eyes. Breathe deeply, and try to concentrate on nothing but your breathing.”

Finn obeys. The General’s office is on a quiet corridor - or possibly it’s just quiet this late in the evening - and all he can hear is the quiet humming of the air circulation and the steady rhythm of his own breathing. It’s oddly soothing. He’s not sure how long he sits there, breathing deep and slow, letting himself just _relax_ for the first time in - he doesn’t honestly know how long. His whole life, perhaps.

The General’s voice doesn’t so much interrupt the peace of the moment as somehow become part of it. “Keep breathing deeply,” she says quietly. “And think about your feet. Concentrate on them - how do they feel? Are they sore? Comfortable? Cold?”

Finn does. His feet are quite comfortable, actually; his boots are well broken-in, and he hasn’t been marching much recently. The General’s soft words urge him to think about his ankles, his shins, on and on up his legs and torso and arms to the very top of his head. Finn’s never really thought about the top of his head before, but now that he does, he’s mildly amused by the way he can feel the gentle breeze of the air circulation blowing through his short hair.

He’s never really been aware of his body quite this way before, actually. It’s always been a tool - a useful one, one he trained to do exactly what he wanted it to, because anything else was cause for demerits and discipline - but he’s never been so at home in his own skin. His thoughts are calm, too, all the chaos of the last few weeks falling away as he thinks of his own breathing, his own hands, the way the air feels against his skin.

There’s something else, too, something warm and almost fizzy, surrounding him on every side. It’s so faint he’s not surprised he’s never felt it before, but now that he’s taking the time to meditate, it’s like the feeling’s always been there. If Finn had to guess, he’d guess it was the Force.

It’s not insisting he use it, or turning him into anything unnatural, or doing anything but just _being_ there, fizzing gently and consistently against his skin. It feels kind of nice, really. Finn can live with that.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when General Organa sighs deeply and says, “Alright. Open your eyes - slowly - and come on up again.”

Finn obeys. The lights are very bright for a few moments, and he has to squint, but he adjusts quickly enough, and rolls easily to his feet, then, moved by some inexplicable impulse, offers General Organa a hand out of her chair. She grins and takes it.

“Thank you,” she says as she stands. “You’re welcome to join me again, if you like.”

“I think I will,” Finn says thoughtfully. “It really is very...um...soothing.”

“Yes,” General Organa agrees. “Now go reassure Commander Dameron that I haven’t terrified you out of your wits.” She’s grinning wickedly, and Finn finds himself grinning back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and heads for the room he shares with his dream-mate, still smiling, feeling calmer than he has in far too long.

*

Poe isn’t there when Finn gets back to their room, so Finn decides to take advantage of the private refresher. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he actually got clean - certainly it was before Jakku - and he’s used to twice-daily sonics, because the First Order is very strict about cleanliness.

Poe’s private refresher has a _water_ shower. Finn stares in shock. He’s never used a water shower before. On ground postings, only the officers were allowed water; on shipboard, everyone used sonics, because it was more efficient.

...Well, it can’t be _that_ much different than a sonic, right? Finn leaves his borrowed clothing in the hamper and steps into the shower. The controls are already adjusted to what Finn assumes is Poe’s preferred setting, and presumably if Poe likes it Finn will too, so Finn pulls the lever that seems to control the water flow and steps back as water gushes from the showerhead.

It’s _warm_. Finn stands there in astonishment for a long moment, and then he can’t quite help the moan that rises from his chest. He’s never in his _life_ had such a pleasant experience as standing here beneath the blood-hot water. It feels like every tense muscle he’s ever had is relaxing. He could stand here _forever_. He may never move again.

...But presumably there are time limitations on these showers - or is that something else the Resistance doesn’t do? - and after a few blissful minutes Finn reluctantly turns to figuring out the soap, which smells faintly of something pleasant that he can’t identify. Well, that explains why Poe smells so good. And now Finn is going to smell like Poe. That’s...an oddly satisfying thought.

He shuts the shower off with a twinge of regret, and uses Poe’s towel for lack of any other option, then hangs it up neatly and goes padding barefoot out into the main room. Poe is lying on his bunk, booted feet dangling over the edge so as not to dirty the sheets, and looks up with a smile that turns abruptly into a dropped-jaw gape.

“Holy _Force_ ,” he breathes. “Hnnnng.”

Finn pauses in the doorway, not quite sure why Poe is staring so intently. “Poe?” he asks after a moment, wondering if he’s done something wrong.

Poe shakes himself a little and closes his mouth. “Finn,” he says, sounding a little strangled. “Let me - uh - find you some pajamas, buddy.”

“Oh!” Finn says, looking down at himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize -”

“It’s fine,” Poe says, still sounding a little off. “I just - we did agree to wait a little while while you got your feet under you - unless you _have_ got your feet under you, in which case, um -”

Finn looks up again and realizes that the look on Poe’s face is not one of disapproval or dismay. It’s _lust_.

Oh.

Finn knows Poe is an attractive man, but Finn would think Poe the most beautiful person in the galaxy even if he _wasn’t_ objectively very pretty. Poe has kept him sane, has been his best and only friend, has risked his life for Finn. What Finn _hadn’t_ quite realized is that Poe thinks _he_ is beautiful. That Poe loves him, yes, Finn knew _that_. It is fast becoming the bedrock of his life. But that Poe _wants_ him so -

“Not quite yet,” Finn says reluctantly. “Give me a few more days.”

“As long as you need, buddy,” Poe says, and rolls out of his bunk to root through his dresser, emerging triumphantly after a moment with a pair of loose pants and an old, soft-looking shirt. “Hah! Pajamas!”

Finn crosses the small room in a few quick strides and takes the pajamas, then cups his free hand around Poe’s face and kisses him. Poe makes a soft, helpless sound and kisses back hungrily.

“Kriff, but I love you,” Poe breathes against Finn’s lips after a long moment. “You _gorgeous_ man.”

“I love you too,” Finn says, and pulls away just far enough to tug on the pajamas. They’re soft and warm and comfortable, and he can’t help grinning at the sensation. “Thank you; these are lovely.”

Poe looks Finn up and down and grins back. “Yeah? What _do_ Stormtroopers wear to bed?”

“Undersuits,” Finn says, shrugging. “Makes it easier to put the armor on again if the alarm goes off.”

Poe grimaces. “Sorry I asked,” he says ruefully. “Well. You’ve had quite a day, and frankly tomorrow’s likely to be longer. We should probably get some sleep.” He glances over at Finn’s bunk, then adds tentatively, “I don’t want to push, buddy, so feel free to say no - but I would really, really like to fall asleep with you in my arms. Would you - would you be alright with sharing a bed?”

Finn blinks. He’s honestly never even _thought_ about sharing a bed with someone - in the First Order, even _sitting_ on someone else’s bed was cause for a demerit - but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes it. Falling asleep with Poe warm against him - knowing he’s not alone -

“Yeah,” he says, a little hoarsely. “I’d like that.”

Poe lights up, his grin as bright as Jakku sunrise. “Awesome,” he says. “Right, then, you get yourself settled and I’ll go scrub the engine oil off and be out in two shakes.”

“Two shakes of what?” Finn asks curiously, sitting down on Poe’s bunk as Poe bends down to unlace his boots.

“Huh?” Poe asks, looking up and frowning, then starting to chuckle. “You know, I haven’t the faintest idea. It’s just a saying, you know? No clue where it came from.”

“Oh,” Finn says, and stretches out on the mattress as Poe goes padding into the refresher in his socks, leaving the boots tucked halfway under what’s technically Finn’s bunk. The bed is astonishingly comfortable, but Finn was honestly half expecting that. _Everything_ in the Resistance seems to be more comfortable than the resources the First Order provides - food, clothing, shelter, medical care.

Finn suspects that’s a result of the fact that the Resistance certainly appears to think of all the people _as_ people, not as interchangeable cogs. After all, it hardly matters if a Stormtrooper is anything more than adequately fed or housed or clean. Stormtroopers do their duty regardless, and it is cheaper and more efficient to provide the bare minimum. But the Resistance fighters, who were all raised knowing they were _people_ , they had worth - they had _dream-mates_ \- well, there’s no way they’d cooperate with a regime that treated them as badly as the First Order does its Stormtroopers.

There’s something to that thought that might be useful later, Finn thinks, and files it away carefully before sleep rises up to claim him as its own.

*

Poe joins him beneath the blue-green tree some indistinct time later. Finn opens his arms, and Poe settles down between Finn’s legs, leaning back against his chest with his head on Finn’s shoulder. Finn curls his arms around Poe’s chest and wriggles until he’s comfortable, then rests his cheek against Poe’s hair and sits quietly, enjoying the peaceful moment and the gentle rise and fall of Poe’s chest beneath his hands.

“You held up well today,” Poe says quietly, into the soft whispering of the leaves. “Dunno if I could have stayed as calm as you did, buddy.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you there,” Finn replies, just as softly. “All those people _looking_ at me. It’s not good when officers look at you.”

“I’m an officer,” Poe points out, then grins. “But I know what you mean. Being _noticed_ probably never meant anything good in the First Order, did it?”

“Not unless it was at one of the formal commendation ceremonies,” Finn says, nodding. “Otherwise, yeah, it meant you’d messed up pretty bad.”

“What...did happen if you messed up?” Poe asks tentatively. “I mean, if you feel like talking about it.”

“I don’t mind - when it’s you,” Finn says, shrugging a little. Poe turns his head to nestle against the side of Finn’s throat, and Finn holds him a little more tightly, a warm shield against the memories. “It depended on what _sort_ of error you made. Simple stuff got demerits, and too many demerits got you put on Sanitation for extra shifts, or doing extra training during rest hours, things like that. _Lots_ of demerits got you sent to reconditioning.” He shivers. “‘Troopers _did_ come back from reconditioning, but they came back...strange. They didn’t remember their squadmates, or finger-talk, or how to tell jokes. Sometimes they’d learn again, but it took a while. And no one really liked to spend any time with them, because - well - what if whatever they’d done wrong rubbed off?”

“Kriff,” Poe says, sounding ill, and his hands come up to cling to Finn’s on his chest. “That sounds _awful_.”

“Yeah,” Finn says, wincing. “Anyway. Reconditioning was for too many demerits or if the officers caught you saying or doing anything ‘detrimental to discipline.’ Which mostly meant saying anything that wasn’t completely loyal to the Supreme Leader.”

“ _Did_ ‘troopers every say anything that wasn’t loyal?” Poe asks, surprised.

“Sometimes,” Finn says. “Usually when we were pretty young. And it was usually the ones who hadn’t got any demerits, who didn’t know how cruel the officers could be. The ones who thought it was safe to be a little more...human.” He winces again. “There was one in my cadet group. FN-1806. Sixer. We all figured he was being groomed for platoon leader, maybe even officer some day. He was _smart_ , he always got the tactical problems before anyone else, and when he was leading a team during combat practice, that team was going to win unless something _really_ weird happened.” He falls silent, remembering.

“What happened?” Poe asks gently after a long moment.

“We were listening to the daily speech from the Supreme Leader,” Finn says softly. “And there was a - a logical fallacy, I guess. There were a _lot_ of those, now that I think about it, but of course we weren’t supposed to notice them. But it was - it was really glaring, that day. And Sixer noticed. Well, a lot of us _noticed_ , but Sixer - well - he said something. Said the speech hadn’t made sense. Said maybe the Supreme Leader was wrong.”

He takes a deep breath. “The officers took him away, and we didn’t see him again for three days. Half of us thought they’d just decommissioned him, but the rest of us thought they would have done that in front of us, as a lesson. Which - yeah, when they _did_ decommission someone a couple years later, they did it on the stage in front of all of us. They made her strip off all her armor first, and told us she was no longer a Stormtrooper, and then the General shot her in the head.” Finn shivers again, and Poe cranes his head up to kiss Finn’s cheek.

“But - that was later,” Finn says, shaking himself out of the memory. “Sixer - he came back from reconditioning, but he wasn’t _Sixer_ anymore. He was still good at tactics, but he couldn’t _lead_ \- he didn’t remember anyone’s name or designation, he couldn’t joke the way he used to. And he never seemed to notice when the speeches got sort of...nonsensical. He quoted them a lot, though.” Finn sighs. “It was - it was really terrifying, actually. He was going to be great, we could all see it, and then he was - he was _gone_. His squad even stopped calling him Sixer, because he wasn’t Sixer anymore, and he wouldn’t even _answer_ to anything but his formal designation. So then we all knew what reconditioning was. And - and that they didn’t care how good you were, how valuable. We were all expendable. That’s what Sixer taught us.”

“Bloody kriffing hell,” Poe says faintly. “If I ever needed another reason to destroy the First Order - you’re _not_ expendable, buddy. _Never_.” He squirms around in Finn’s arms until he’s kneeling between Finn’s legs, looking down at him. “Not expendable, not interchangeable, not just a number. You’re _Finn_ , the one and only, and I love you.”

Finn reaches up to cup his hands around Poe’s cheeks, Poe’s stubble scratchy-tickly on his palms, and draws his dream-mate down into a kiss. “You’re what kept me sane,” he tells Poe softly. “Even when I thought you were a figment of my imagination, even when I thought you were nothing but a dream, I had you, and I knew I _was_ someone.” He smiles against Poe’s lips. “You’re Poe, the one and only, and I love you.”

“Finn,” Poe breathes, and kisses him again, deep and drugging and sweet, and Finn laces his hands through Poe’s hair and just holds on, letting the kiss wash the dreadful memories away.


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning, Finn follows Poe down to the quartermaster, who is not _nearly_ as grumpy as Poe made him out to be. Finn’s not quite sure what species the quartermaster is - something vaguely reptilian - but he looks Finn up and down and pulls a stack of uniforms together in scant moments. Finn can’t help feeling a _little_ sorry that he won’t be wearing Poe’s clothing anymore - but at least he has the jacket. So that’s alright.

Then breakfast with the pilots and their friends again, which is enlightening - Finn discovers he quite likes omelettes - and then Poe leaves him at the conference room again with an apologetic kiss and goes trotting off towards the hangars and the duties of being a Commander, and Finn squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath and steps into the conference room alone.

Thankfully, there is less of a crowd today. It’s just General Organa - who is less terrifying after yesterday’s meditation - and Captain Cypress, who commands the Resistance’s ground troops and was quite civil during yesterday’s interrogation, and half a dozen Intelligence staffers, each with a datapad and an eager look.

“While I am sure there is much more you can tell us about the general workings of the First Order,” General Organa says as Finn takes his seat, “and we will definitely be asking you a great many follow-up questions once we have finished digesting the intelligence you have already given us, today we would like you to assist us in planning actions against various First Order bases.”

“Of course,” Finn says, nodding firmly. “Which ones?”

Captain Cypress leans forward. “As I am sure you know, the Resistance is fairly severely outgunned. We have the finest pilots in the galaxy -” he grins when Finn nods vigorously - “but they don’t have enough ships, and the First Order has _far_ too many. So. We think, based on our own reconnaissance and some of the information you gave us yesterday, that their main shipyard is _here_.” He stabs a finger up into the holomap as it rises above the table, and Finn leans forward, squinting at the neatly labeled stars. “It’s fairly deep in First Order space, but it’s near a fair number of hyperlanes, so it’s accessible if we’re clever. So what can you tell me about the First Order’s defenses, young Finn?”

Finn reaches out to pull the holomap closer, expanding it carefully until he can see the details of the system in question. Three planets and a handful of moons, all clustered near the habitable zone - probably quite a nice system when it’s not covered with First Order construction yards. “They’ll have fixed defenses on all of the moons,” he says, almost absently, as the system turns slowly beneath his fingers, becoming yet another tactical problem, just like all the ones the cadet officers ran them through every day. “Civilian workers - probably whoever lived in this system _before_ the First Order got there - and if this is a conquered system, the people are probably not loyal to the First Order out of anything but fear. So a couple of battalions of Riot Troopers to keep the peace, probably one per world.” He frowns thoughtfully. “But probably not too many _other_ Stormtroopers, because there’s no point in just having them stand around, and Stormtroopers aren’t trained on ship construction. I would _guess_ they rely heavily on the fixed defenses and the knowledge that you _don’t_ have enough fighter pilots to get through.”

“Which we don’t,” Captain Cypress observes.

“No,” Finn agrees, still lost in thought. “But - look - the First Order is very bad at subtlety.”

General Organa snorts with laughter, covering her mouth with one hand and waving the other at Finn for him to continue. Finn smiles. “So if they see a threat coming, they’ll honor it - but if they don’t see one, no one wants to be the first to say something might be wrong. Do you know if there’s supposed to be a shipment of materials coming in to this system anytime soon?”

Captain Cypress starts to smile. “You mean for us to slip in as a false shipment of ore.”

Finn shrugs. “I mean, if you can. But if you can get your people into the shipyards without alerting the fixed defenses, there won’t be many Stormtroopers to deal with.”

“Yes,” one of the Intelligence people says, “but then how do our people get _out_?”

“Take the ships that have engines already,” Finn suggests. “Set them on autopilot, and keep your transports in the middle of the fleet. The fixed defenses will _have_ to aim for the ships you’re ‘stealing’ -”

“And destroy their own ships,” Captain Cypress says with deep satisfaction. “Alright.” He taps one of the Intelligence staff on the shoulder. “You got that all down? Go talk to Brance and Statura, and pull everything we know about First Order transport protocols. Have them poke holes in this until it looks like it’ll work.”

“Sir!” says the Intelligence staffer, and goes trotting off. Captain Cypress gives Finn a grim smile.

“Alright,” he says. “Now.” He reaches for the holomap controls, and the map rotates until it’s displaying a completely different patch of stars. “This is one of the First Order’s training bases. What can you tell us about the defenses on _those_?”

Finn starts to smile. This is - this is something he can _do_. He’s always been good at tactics, and if this is what the Resistance wants of him -

“They’re pretty light, but you’ll need to try to capture at least one of the officers,” he says. “Otherwise the cadets won’t stand down.”

“Noted,” Captain Cypress says, scribbling something on his datapad. “So we’ll be sending our troops in to capture, not kill…”

*

One of the staffers actually brings them lunch, and Finn eats one-handed, not quite noticing what he’s eating, while he and Captain Cypress and General Organa wrangle over the likely locations of Supreme Leader Snoke’s headquarters. Finn honestly doesn’t even notice how much time has passed until General Organa finally holds up a hand and says, “Alright, gentlebeings, we’ve been at this all day. Cypress, spend tomorrow going over these plans with Brance and Statura and Dameron, please, and see if any of them are viable. Finn, if you’re amenable, I’m going to ask you to take a position with Tactical, and liaison with Intelligence as well. You’re quite good at this, and we need someone with your experience in both areas.”

Finn blinks, startled and pleased. “I...I’d like that, ma’am,” he says. She nods approvingly at him.

“We’ll also need to assess your combat skills - meet with Major Brance the day after tomorrow, please, and he’ll run you through your paces,” she says. “But frankly, no matter how good you might be with a blaster, a mind like yours is going to be _far_ more use to us in Tactical than on the battlefield. Though you’ll probably end up on the battlefield anyway, I’m afraid.”

“Whatever’s needed, ma’am,” Finn says firmly.

“Good,” she says. “Now shoo - Dameron’s going to be wondering if we’ve eaten you alive. I’ll see you this evening for meditation, if you’re still awake.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Finn says, startling himself when he laughs, and heads for the mess hall at a trot. Poe is already there, and waves eagerly when he sees Finn, making the other people at the table laugh. Finn collects a plate of dinner - more of that good thick bread, a big square chunk of something labeled ‘lasagna,’ fruit, and a tall glass of whatever that fizzy drink is, which is quite good if slightly startling - and slides into the empty seat at Poe’s side.

“Poe was worried you’d been devoured by rabid Intelligence staff,” Snap says cheerfully, and Finn bursts into laughter. Poe sighs and leans against Finn’s shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m friends with you lot,” he says mournfully. “Nothing but sass, all day long. You’d think a Commander would get some _respect_ around here!”

The rest of the people at the table burst into laughter. Finn rests more of his weight against Poe, chuckling.

“You’re very silly,” he tells Poe solemnly. Poe sticks out his tongue.

“I am a bastion of maturity and responsibility,” he says, and Finn laughs harder, reaching over to take Poe’s hand and raising it to kiss the knuckles.

“You’re a bastion of _something_ ,” Jess teases, and then adds, “So Finn, what do you think of lasagna?”

Finn takes a bite and his eyes go wide. “It’s _good_ ,” he says once he’s swallowed. “I have _got_ to learn how to cook.”

“I can teach you,” Poe offers. “I’m not bad.”

Snap rolls his eyes. “Not bad, the man says. Yeah, like you’re ‘not bad’ at flying an X-Wing.” He gives Finn a solemn look. “This man made us a stew that would have _raised the dead_ , it was so good. We make him cook for us every chance we get - which isn’t often.”

“Thanks,” Finn tells Poe. “I’d like that.”

Poe grins. “Me, too.”

“Oh kriff, they’re being sweet again,” Jess sighs. “Ugh, just because you’ve finally found each other after twenty years of not even knowing each other’s names - okay, no, nevermind, I’m shutting up now.” She grimaces. “I guess you’ve got an excuse.”

Poe laughs. Finn can feel his cheeks burning, but he can’t help grinning. “How _is_ your Ellion?” Poe asks cheerfully.

“Run ragged,” Jess says, shrugging. “But he says he’s got it under control, so…”

“Yeah,” Poe says, sobering. “What else can you do, right?”

“Win the damn war,” Jess says grimly. “And we’re _gonna_.”

Poe raises his glass, and the other pilots raise theirs to clink against it, Finn half a beat behind. “To victory,” Poe says, and the pilots chorus, “To victory,” grim and determined and fierce.

*

Finn settles to the floor in General Organa’s office without being instructed, and shifts a bit to get comfortable, then closes his eyes. General Organa chuckles softly.

“Long day,” she says. “You’re holding up very well, young man. Deep breaths, now. Think about breathing. Let everything else fall away.”

Finn obeys, breathing long and deep and slow, reveling in the simplicity of it, the cool air on his skin, the quiet pleasure of being comfortable and not in any pain, of knowing he’s got a _place_ now, a place where his skills are valued. He’s not just Poe’s ex-Stormtrooper dream-mate, kept around because Poe is a Commander and allowed his little foibles; he’s a source of information and a new addition to the tactical department, someone whose ideas are clever enough to please even the infamously devious General Organa.

He’s not just FN-2187. He’s not just Poe’s long-lost dream-mate. He’s not _just_ anything.

He’s Finn.

He breathes slow and deep, and thinks through every inch of his body from the soles of his feet up to the top of his head, and takes a quiet joy in the fizzing of the Force against his skin. Maybe he’ll ask the General if she knows any ways to use it. New skills are always valuable. He doesn’t want to be a Jedi or a Knight of Ren, but there must be some little tricks that aren’t too hard to learn. He’ll learn how to cook, too, and whatever tricks Major Brance can teach him with blasters and melee combat, and -

He hauls his mind back to his breathing. He has opportunities, now, and that’s good. But those are for _tomorrow_. Right now, he is breathing, slow and easy, and thinking about nothing but that.

*

Poe is in the refresher when Finn gets back, and Finn folds his new clothing while he’s waiting. When the shower shuts off, he grins and slips into the refresher, taking the towel off its hook and holding it out as Poe steps out of the little shower stall. Poe blinks at him for a moment before taking the towel with a broad grin.

“Hey there, handsome,” he says cheerfully, if rather muffled by the towel over his face. Finn leans back against the wall and lets himself look. Poe is...really, really handsome. He’s paler than Finn is, obviously, skin more a golden tan than Finn’s own warm brown, and he’s in pretty good physical shape. He’s got scars scattered over his body here and there - Finn even knows the stories behind some of them, from things Poe has told him over the years - and there’s a line of dark hair down his stomach that Finn kind of wants to pet.

Poe looks up and meets Finn’s eyes, and his expression goes from mild amusement to shocked delight all in a moment. Finn’s not sure what his own face looks like, but he’s guessing it’s undisguised lust. “Tonight?” Poe asks, sounding astonished and hopeful and tentative and so joyful it makes Finn’s heart clench.

“Tonight,” Finn agrees, and steps forward, taking the towel out of Poe’s hands and dropping it behind him, and pulling Poe in for a kiss. Poe laughs in delight against Finn’s lips and tugs at the hem of Finn’s tunic.

“Clothes _off_ ,” he insists, and Finn steps back far enough to shuck tunic and trousers and boots, looks up to find Poe watching with wide, blown-dark eyes. “I am the luckiest man in the _galaxy_ ,” Poe says hoarsely. “Bed, come on, our first time should not be on the refresher floor.”

Finn follows his dream-mate out into the bedroom, discovering along the way that Poe has a really _magnificent_ ass, and then follows Poe right into the bunk. Poe laughs harder, winding his arms around Finn and pulling him into a kiss that sends Finn’s head reeling - or maybe that’s the effect of being skin-on-skin with someone for the first time ever.

“Why tonight?” Poe asks quietly. “Not - I am not complaining, no complaints here, but -”

“I have a place,” Finn says quietly. “I have something to _do_ , I can - I can be myself, and learn who that is. I’m not just your mate, that everyone’s putting up with because you love me.”

“Ah,” Poe says, and kisses him again. “You’re going to be magnificent, buddy. I mean, you already are, but -”

Finn laughs and rolls Poe onto his back so he can kiss him thoroughly. “I know what you mean,” he says. “Now show me how this works.”

“Any way you like,” Poe says, grinning. “We can just roll around like this, we can discover the exciting world of blowjobs - probably shouldn’t get to actual fucking tonight, we have to get up early tomorrow - I’m told I’m good with my hands, though.” He pauses, looking nervous. “You don’t - mind? That I’ve had lovers?”

“No,” Finn assures him. “ _One_ of us needs to know what he’s doing.”

“Doing _you_ ,” Poe says, laughing, and Finn shuts him up with a kiss.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly, love spreading warm through his chest. “So teach me what you’ve learned.”

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Poe says, and rolls them back over. Finn sprawls out, flat on his back, and makes a truly undignified noise when Poe wraps one agile hand around his cock. “Kriff, yes, just like that,” Poe adds, staring down at Finn with hungry eyes. “I have been waiting so long to hear you -”

Finn moans again as Poe’s hand moves, and Poe licks his lips. “Beautiful,” he breathes. “Oh, Finn, I want to see - want you to come for me - kriff, you’re so lovely, I have been thinking about this since you hit that last growth spurt, wanting to see you fall apart for me -”

Finn gasps, staring up into Poe’s dark eyes and drowning in pleasure, and comes with a moan that reverberates through the room. Poe kisses the sound out of his mouth, and Finn clutches at his shoulders and shudders with ecstasy.

“Kriff,” Finn says softly once the pleasure has ebbed a bit. “That was...that was _wonderful_.” He grins up at Poe and slides one hand down Poe’s chest and stomach, ruffles the line of hair that so intrigued him earlier, and traces one curious finger up Poe’s straining cock. Poe gasps and the arm he’s using to brace himself over Finn shakes.

“Show me,” Finn murmurs, and Poe flops down inelegantly beside him. Finn rolls up onto one elbow and reaches out with his free hand, and Poe wraps his own hand around Finn’s and guides them both together to wrap around his cock.

“Like this,” Poe gasps, and Finn frowns in concentration, trying to get this _right_. It’s hard to remember anything when Poe is making such delightful little noises, though, and shuddering beneath Finn’s hand, and gasping broken words that might be Finn’s name.

On a hunch, Finn leans down to murmur in Poe’s ear. “I love you,” he says, soft and clear. “And you’re _mine_.” Poe makes a desperate, high-pitched noise and comes all over their joined hands, and Finn kisses him through it, feeling absurdly proud of himself.

Poe starts laughing after a moment, and Finn pulls away to give him a curious look. Poe grins unrepentantly.

“Now I need another shower,” he says, and Finn puts his head down on Poe’s shoulder and laughs until he cries.

*

Poe is lying on the ground beneath the blue-green tree, hands laced behind his head, watching the patterns of sun and shadow on the leaves. He’s quite naked, and obviously perfectly comfortable to be so. Finn stands quietly for a long moment, looking at his dream-mate, and then grins and kicks off the comfortable sleep pants that are the only thing he’s wearing and pads across the soft moss to lie down beside Poe. Poe rolls over and cuddles against Finn, humming in contentment, and Finn watches the leaf-shadows dance across his beloved’s shoulders, and listens to the whisper of the breeze through the tree’s branches, and basks in perfect happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> This will update daily until it is finished.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as imaginarygolux - drop on by!


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